


Let It Linger

by returntosaturn



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: 1990s, AU, Alternate Universe - 1990s, F/M, Slow Burn, no monsters here, no upsidedown
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-28 06:23:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20059465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/returntosaturn/pseuds/returntosaturn
Summary: He doesn’t know when he noticed her...but at some point it just happened and now there’s no going back. He should have the guts to at least act like he notices.But that’s not the real world.// Jonathan and Nancy discover and confront feelings, romantic and otherwise. Slow burn. 1990s AU, no monsters, no Upside-down.





	Let It Linger

**Author's Note:**

> So of course this started out only as a one-shot, but now its expanded into multiple chapters. And of course I sought out to write the whole thing before posting, but I've hit a little bit of a rut so I've decided to go ahead and post this first piece, so that perhaps some feedback will get me out of this slump.
> 
> Honestly, I don't know if anybody will like this, if it was a good idea or if its just stupid, so I truly hope someone catches on to what I'm trying to put down here, and enjoys it.
> 
> I just wanted to play with what another decade may feel like, what it would look like if Jonathan and Nancy were part of the cliques of the 90s, and if they'd still go through the same emotional arc without monsters involved. 
> 
> This first part is cute, and I like it, so even if I don't post the rest, I at least wanted to give you this.

_Starcourt Mall, 1995_

It isn’t creepy just to look, definitely not creepy, he decides.

It’s just the blue butterfly clip she has in her hair.

The way it glints under the fluorescents. The way her hair curls just at the ends. Like the old piece of butcher paper he and Will used as a treasure map ages ago when they were both still small.

Her friend Barb is close by in the oldies section, inspecting the track list of an ABBA album. Not what he’d call the best taste, but it’s typical for this town.

She’s in the rock section, and he tries not to let himself smile at that. That could be a variety of things. Doesn’t mean she’s looking for Black Flag. But honestly it would be pretty cool if she was.

She finds what she wants quickly, and he hardly has time to find the sense to speak let alone put on his customer service voice before she’s at the register.

“Hey,” she says like they actually know each other. Not like their only interactions have been seeing each other in passing periods, or spotting the other lurking around their respective houses in the rare case they’ve actually gone inside after dropping their brothers off.

He smiles despite himself, and the butterflies that alight in his stomach warn him not to meet her eyes.

“Hi,” he chokes out.

She sets down her CD and pushes it towards him. 

The Cranberries. 

That’s nice.

He scans it, grabs a bag. It takes a moment to shake out the plastic with shaking hands. 

“They’re great, huh?”

“What?” He chances a glance, and she’s watching him with a sincere smile and those blue eyes that match her butterfly clip, still sparkling.

“The Cranberries,” she clarifies. “They’re cool.”

“Yeah.” He smiles at the space between them. 

He doesn’t own the album, but they aren’t bad, and he doesn’t hate it when they come on at the store. He and Eric have been reprimanded too many times for playing their “dark punk shit” constantly over their shifts, so he’s had to make due. They’re nice. They’re different. Unexpected. Unique. 

He can’t help but look up at her, because she’s there right in front of him, talking like they’re friends, framed by the impulse-buy knick-knacks crowding the counter, and even if he’s an idiot lacking people skills, that doesn’t mean he wants her to leave.

“Pretty...cool,” he says.

Barb appears at her shoulder, and Nancy’s smile falters. He feels color creep up the back of his neck when he looks away.

He stuffs her receipt in the bag and hands it over.

“Thanks.”

“Have a nice day.”

It’s sterile and corporate, and he wishes instantly he’d said something else. Something nicer. More personal. Because he does know her, after all, to whatever degree that is. She’s Nancy. She’s been in his world since Kindergarten, at varying distances. He doesn’t know when he noticed her, at what point he decided to admire her hair and whatever accessories she chose to put in it, but at some point it just happened and now there’s no going back. He should have the guts to at least act like he notices. 

But that’s not the real world.

He rings up Barb’s ABBA album with the same auto-piloted process, but much less weight in his stomach, and then they’re gone, back into the bustling breezeways of Starcourt.

Eric snorts from behind him, where he’s sorting through a pile of go-backs. “The Cranberries, huh?”

Jonathan glares and slams the cash drawer.


End file.
